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Love, life and reinvention

In the beginning there was epic discovery. Bodies hungry for the connection. I tasted everything greedily. Consumed as if mad like Max. Scars etched forever mark the meeting.
Friction. Yearning satiated.
I wanted more still. Called and cried for it. To fill the void…
Between my legs
In my head
In my too full aching heart
I burn love
I bleed
But he cannot stop the haemorrhage

I conjure up a black summer’s night
I dream of drowning below the wrecking waves
Take me under
Take me in
Shelter me in the cove
Show me the moonlight as I am battered by the tide

Following on from Mr F which seems like a liaison from another lifetime, I am now seeing the young Mr R. I have used present tense but really a purgatory, no man’s land tense would be more appropriate.

When God hovers near my instinct I feel that something is coming. On New Year’s Eve. An energy energy. And a lightness for the new flowed throughout me and around me and amongst us. A kiss at midnight I sensed but at midnight I had better. Not a forced encounter but the clinking of six glasses. My sisters and three other souls who are destined to meet again.
And then it was 2018. It was gold glitter. It was a blue sky. It was the walk into heat and the promise of a maybe.
I largely spent the night blessing and matchmaking and being lifted by the love and beauty of others.
Then on the way to the bathroom with the sisters he held my hand and I stopped. Turning back I don’t remember who I saw just that my interest had been piqued and God said ok and after some convincing I stayed. And for the first time in forever I felt safe.
That was the override. Knowing that if I lay back and closed my eyes he would not have to catch me he would simply be there.
And so eyes hazy I turned and sought his kiss. And it was as if I was home. And it was urgent like the pull of gravity. I was tethered.

I did tell him he wasn’t ready for me. Obviously asked his age because what’s the use in starting that which cannot be done. And I heard 35 and thought wow ok. I did look him dead in the face and didn’t see the face of the 35 year old. Perhaps I knew but thought he must be babyfaced like me for why would anyone any man lie.

I’ve been watching TED talks recently. A lot of them in fact and you know I’m in the business of education and so some have been directly linked to my field. Others have just been helping me find my way. It’s been an amazing journey. I’ve learned much about myself and grieved over my many deaths. I’ve mourned the young woman I lost. I’ve tried to find the teenager I was. I’ve seen the shadow I became and I’ve cried over how feint I appeared. I’ve searched for a beginning. I’m realising that in the face of not being able to exactly remember the best version of me I will instead have to make new connections and start to form my future self. I must not try to recreate my past for that is where the dust settled and I stopped growing or moving forward. I’m 36 and present. I will never again be 9 or 16 or 20. The universe decided I would survive this long and will decide when I die. I am a miracle according to one TED speaker. What were the chances of my parent’s meeting, of my particular DNA combination, of my birth on that particular day. Of me being born in London. Of me being kind and graceful and determined. Pretty slim. I am indeed a miracle. And so my two babies are equally miraculous gifts. Their idiot father a mere chance donor of DNA. We three are a wonder to behold.

I’ll take the essence of who I was into the future with me but essentially I’m packing light. I’ve got enough baggage to sort through. Anyway back to TED. I’m going to try and revisit those talks that were most helpful. I’m going to write a little mini essay on each one so that I begin to apply those learned life lessons to my life.

So I am currently still trying to divorce the Arsehole ex. (He whose name must not be spoken will be referred to as Mr A(rsehole) from here forward.) In between the aftermath of seeing Mr F and trying to understand how and why I put up with sooo much shit from Mr A I discovered that I’m still totally fucked up and still have a lot of healing to do. In order to make it through the messy hell of divorcing a narcissist whilst trying to heal and not implode, somethings had to go. The first was work.
I needed some time out. It was the first time I’d ever admitted defeat and listened to my body. It was screaming at me to STOP. So rather than experience the breakdown that I could feel hurtling towards me with the force of a thousand Lewis Hamiltons, I took a leave of absence that would go on to last five months.

Second to go was Tinder, Okcupid and the search for sex. I could not be doing with the stress of online dating with all its checking and waiting and swiping and updating and poor results. It seemed as though turning 36 had taken me over the desirability threshold. Notifications dried up; no fish were biting. This was like a death nell to my vagina which was already having a MAJOR self evaluating crisis over the appearance of a few grey hairs. To be honest though I was too busy just trying to make it through each day to do anything about it: there were no ‘come fuck me’ photos to edit or warm smiles to flaunt, no full body shots for me to upload. I didn’t have the energy to come up with any more witty but not too intimidatingly clever one liners. I weaned myself away from daily swiping, deleted the apps and focused on living life offline. There were a few trips back to it all but after a day or two I was always left underwhelmed by what was on offer.

The last thing to go was my car. My first baby. I bought it in 2003 and sold it for £90 in May 2015. I thought I’d shed a tear but instead I felt liberated. These days I’m in the world not in my car. I’m connected. In the rain. In the warm sunshine. Connected to the pavement as well as the person sitting next to me on the train.

I’ve let go of all sorts of things. Tossed weight out of my canoe and into the sea. I’m paddling to the left and then to the right, plunging my oar silently into the water. Life feels lighter, as does my boat, as do I.

Some days I miss that old life. Not him or even being in a two parent family. I miss what I accomplished. I mourn all the hard work I put in to making a home for my children. I miss not being sad. Things were bad yes but I knew the crazy. I knew what was coming each week and I could deal with it. I tried to make the best of the hand I had been dealt. I coped with stress because I saw no other life before me. Now I don’t know whether I am coming or going. I don’t know where home will be for me and my kids. I don’t know if the sadness will lift. I don’t know if I can be a good parent at all times. I don’t know how to stop my mind racing with maybes and might happens and what ifs. I feel stuck in divorce limbo and dare not imagine the life that lies in the distance somewhere as I don’t know if I have what it takes to begin again from the bottom. I’ve been cheated and robbed and feel like a fool for investing so much.

Inside there is a swollen
pulsing mass.
It is repulsive.
I am being unkind again.
No.
It is fragile
And I’ve got to keep it all in.
If I leak, horses and men
will do no good.
So I tiptoe around myself.
Hushing shushing shooing
away sound.
When it is quiet
when there is only
me thinking
and
myself moving
the hurt stops.
I can walk from one room
to another.
Point the tv remote.
Make toast.
A cup of tea.
I forget about the sticky mess
The embarrassing tightness
in my brain.
I cling film my ears
and nose and mouth.
Wrap the thin plastic
around and around.
My head needs to be
swaddled, bandaged.
Only problem is I can’t breathe
and every time I have to
talk to someone
my work is undone
and I feel my skull crack.
The swelling is a simmer.
A bubble.
An eruption.
My brain seeps out of the
transparent bandage.
I’m falling apart.
Spilling over.
There’s just too much
noise
in the world.